Page 11 of Control
Two men step in. Both wear dark suits, their presence swallowing up the room. The taller one has the kind of eyes that see through you. Cold and calculating, like he’s sizing me up. The other doesn’t say a word. He just stands at the door, blocking any chance of escape.
I take a breath, trying to sound steady. “Who the hell are you?”
The tall one doesn’t answer right away. He just watches me. “We’re here to take you to our boss.”
The words hit me, but I don’t let them show. Not yet. “Boss? You’ve got the wrong person.”
“Don’t think so,” he replies, a smirk creeping onto his face. It’s too easy. Like this is nothing new to him.
I swallow hard. I know what this is. The Mafia doesn’t take mistakes lightly.
“Why?” I ask, forcing myself to sound defiant. “Why me? What the hell do you want with me?”
The second man moves, closing in on me. He grabs my arm and yanks it back before I can react. I try to wrench away, but it’s no use. His grip is like iron.
Then, the first guy steps closer, his voice low and firm. “Don’t make this difficult.”
I’m dragged out of the apartment, and my heart hammers with every step. The knife feels like a dead weight in my pocket. It’s useless here. I’m useless here.
When we get outside, they shove me into a car, the doors slamming shut like a final warning. I barely register the drive, too busy trying to breathe, trying not to lose it.
Not long after, we stop in front of a building that doesn’t belong in this neighborhood. Probably because it doesn’t. We are in the elite area of the city, where the rich live in their shiny, sterile bubbles, worlds apart from everything I’ve known. It’s shiny and sterile, and it feels like a whole different world. I don’t even know how they got me here without me noticing. Maybe I wasn’t meant to notice.
I’m shoved into the elevator, my stomach flipping as the doors close behind me. One second, I’m in my crappy, cramped apartment, the kind that smells like mold and destitution, and the next, I’m staring up at a building so sleek that it might as well be made of glass and ambition. It’s like a fucking luxury magazine cover come to life.
The ride up feels like a countdown, like the seconds are ticking away toward some inevitable disaster I can’t stop, no matter how hard I try. I focus on the numbers above the door,watching them climb higher, one after the other, but my mind’s too busy spinning. What the hell comes next? Who the hell has the power to just drag me out of my life and throw me into this…whatever this is?
When the doors finally open, I’m hit with this heavy, almost suffocating air. It’s rich, the kind of air that’s been bought and paid for. The floors gleam like they’ve never known the touch of dirt. The furniture is sleek, with all sharp lines and polished surfaces, like it’s been designed to intimidate, not welcome. It all screams power, control, and dominance. But not warmth. Not comfort.
And then there’s me. Standing here in a ragged nightdress, the kind that’s seen better days, and wondering why the hell I’m not running yet.
And there he is. Remo Callegari.
He’s standing in the middle of it all like he owns every single inch of this space. He doesn’t need to move to take over the room. His eyes are locked on me, cold, unblinking, and it’s like he’s sucking all the air out of the place.
I hold his stare, trying to ignore the strange pull I feel. Is it fear? Curiosity? Some darker, twisted mix of both? I don’t know what it is, but I hate it. I hate that my body reacts to him like this. I hate that standing here, in front of him, makes me feel so fucking small.
“Welcome, Dolcezza,” he says, his voice smooth but laced with a threat I can almost taste in the air.
His eyes never leave mine.
“I’m sorry about the means of getting you here, but I’m sure you wouldn’t have complied if I asked nicely. I’m glad to see you again, Daniela. I want you to have a good time here. What would you like to drink? Or maybe you’re hungry? I can have my chef prepare anything you want. She’s the best this side of the country. I spent a lot of money to get her to work for me.”
I barely resist the urge to laugh.
“Are you insane?” I snap instead, fire crackling in my voice. “You break into my house and drag me out in the middle of the night…and now you’re asking if I’m hungry?”
He ignores me like I’m nothing more than an annoying fly buzzing around his head. “Or would you prefer to go to your room? It’s been filled with clothes your size and your favorite perfumes and shampoos. I made sure they were particular about that. Wouldn’t want you to feel out of place here.”
“Are you deaf?” I snap. Because why the hell not? But before I can even finish the sentence, he’s there. He’s so fast that I barely have time to blink. His hand wraps around my neck, slamming me against the wall with enough force to knock the air from my lungs.
I don’t know why my body reacts the way it does. Why his scent—mint and sandalwood—hits me so damn good that it almost makes me ache, and why I want to press my nose against his neck and breathe it all in, even though it’s the last thing I should be thinking about right now.
But I can’t stop. I’m not sane. I never have been.
His grip tightens, and I choke out a breath, trying to push his hand away, though it doesn’t work.
“Now, Dolcezza,” he growls, his voice low and deadly. “Let’s try this again. And I suggest you watch how you talk to me. If you don’t, I’ll make sure you end up in a worse position than you already are. I can do things to you that you won’t ever imagine or recover from.”
